“And you didn’t even have to,” Rafferty says. His voice feels like it’s being squeezed through a very small opening. “You could have bought Peep out of petty cash.”
Pan’s pink mouth contracts and loosens, then contracts again, and he says to the floor, “I tried.” The dog, which has been standing next to Dr. Ravi, eyeing the newcomers, hears something in Pan’s voice and goes and sits at his feet, looking up, concerned. Automatically, Pan reaches down and scratches the dog’s ears.
Rafferty says, “Oh, well, you tried. That makes everything all right.”
“He wouldn’t do it,” Pan says. “He wanted-he wanted-to deal with it his way.” He straightens up. The dog paws at his pants leg, wanting more, but Pan ignores it. “He was afraid she’d talk, the girl would, to someone. He was afraid you’d arrange for her to talk to someone.”
“And that made sense to you. So you said, ‘Okay, here’s where she is. Go kill them.’”
Pan says, “It wasn’t like that.”
“No? What was it like?”
“Wichat…knows things, from when we worked together.”
“Right,” Rafferty says. “He knows what happened here. That makes him dangerous, since you’ve decided it’s worth selling who you are in exchange for power.”
Dr. Ravi says to Rafferty, “Wait a minute. What side are you on?”
“Forget it,” Rafferty says. “So you were wrong. Get over it.” He comes another few feet into the room and looks at the arrangement at the far end. The lights are focused to create a sort of stage on which eleven blackened and sagging sewing machines have been arranged in a loose semicircle with a space in the middle. Two enormous photos of the burning factory have been put up on the smoke-black walls. Set in the space between the sewing machines is the platform Pan stood on when he gave his speech at the Garden of Eden. On the floor in front of the platform, ringed by the ghostly machines, is a heap of burned shoes, curled and shriveled fragments of leather and charred cloth, half-melted rubber.
“Are those really from this fire?” Rafferty says, pointing at the shoes. He can barely speak.
“Yes,” Pan says.
“And you’re using them,” Rafferty says, “for a photo op.” He spits on the floor.
“What happened here-” Pan begins.
“I know what happened here,” Rafferty says. “I know everything. I know you tried to save people. I also know you’re the one who locked them in. And I know how you used their deaths to make yourself rich, to get backing from people who normally wouldn’t have pissed on you. Porthip because he felt you earned his support and Ton because he decided that he’d better own you if you were going to run for office. And you sold yourself to him.”
“No, he just thought I did,” Pan begins. “But, really, I-”
“And when you sold yourself, you also sold the people who died here. Is there anything left? Is there anything you haven’t sold? And who did you sell it to? Everything you were supposed to stand for. You sold it to a man who hates the people you grew up with, squeezes blood out of them at every opportunity. You know, the kind of people you used to be, the kind of people who died here. And now you’re going to…to what? Cash in on their deaths, right? You’re going to use these people’s deaths as currency to buy votes.”
Pan says, “You don’t understand. Porthip, Ton-people like Ton-own this country. They’ve owned it forever, and they’ll never let go of it until there are people like me in office. People who are the real Thailand, not the Chinese Thai who have had everything for centuries. People like that will never share power with-”
“People like that?” Rafferty says. “People like that? I know about people like that. The woman I married was whored out by people like that. But let me ask you, Mr. Man of the Soil, how much of yourself do you think you can sell before you become people like that? A girl whose river was stolen, a baby snatched from its mother, a street kid. You were going to sell them. The people who died here, you’re going to use them. Who the hell do you think you are now?”
Pan’s eyes are everywhere. He clears his throat and says, “I-”
“Don’t bother,” Rafferty says. “It’s all over your face. Look, even the dog’s given up on you.”
And in fact the dog has gotten up and is walking toward the door, looking past Boo. And then he stops and his ears go up, and he lowers his head and begins to growl.
“Poke,” Arthit says, but the door is suddenly crowded with men, and in front of them, with Captain Teeth’s arm around her throat and his gun at her head, is Da. Even with death touching her temple, she keeps an arm wrapped tightly around the cashmere shawl that holds Peep.
Boo takes an involuntary step toward her, but one of the men racks his automatic, and the boy freezes.
“Not one move,” Captain Teeth says. “Nobody. Not one move. Anybody twitches and the girl and the kid are dead on the floor, got it?”
No one speaks. The only sound is the husky growl of the dog, its head now low as it looks up at Captain Teeth.
“I count three guns,” Captain Teeth says. “I want those guns turned around slowly, so you’re holding them by the barrel. Do it now.”
Rafferty, Arthit, and Kosit reverse their guns so the handles are pointing toward Captain Teeth.
“Good. Now hold them up in the air, way up. Good, good. And turn around so your backs are to us. Now bring down the hands with the guns, hold them out shoulder length, arms stiff, by the barrel. I don’t want to see any bent elbows. Bring the arm slowly behind you and just stay there.”
Rafferty hears feet moving, and then the gun is removed from his hand. A moment later Captain Teeth says, “All of you, turn back around. Slowly. All the way around.”
When Rafferty is facing the door again, he sees Captain Teeth, still clutching Da, at the center of a group of five men, three of whom hold automatics. They have come several feet into the room, with the door at their backs. Kosit, Arthit, and Rafferty are several feet apart, and eight or ten feet beyond them, near the podium on the other side of the hill of burned shoes, are Pan and Dr. Ravi. Nearest the gunmen, the dog at his side, is Boo.
Captain Teeth makes a show of looking inquisitively around the room. “Where are they?”
“Where are who?” Rafferty says. “The whole world’s here.”
“Your honey. And the kid. We know they’re here.”
“You’re wrong,” Rafferty says.
“Okay, fine. Be an asshole. You,” he says, giving Da a shove that nearly makes her stumble. “Over there. With Fatso and the little guy.” He points his gun at Boo. “You, too, hero. Over there. Take your dog with you.” As Boo moves, the dog resists being led, holding its ground and growling. Boo lets go of him and joins the others. Captain Teeth turns back to Rafferty. “And you and your friends. Over there, with everybody else. Makes you easier to shoot.” He waits there as people move awkwardly through the obstacle course of shoes and melted machines. “Nobody behind anybody, okay? Side by side.” He looks at the setup. “What were you going to do, make a movie?”
“I want to talk to Ton,” Pan says.
“I’ll bet you do. But right now I’m more concerned with our missing girls. One more time,” he says to Rafferty. “Where are they?”
“They’re not here.”
“Bullshit. It was your sweetie’s phone that got us here in the first place. I’m not asking again, I’m just shooting somebody. You, Mr. Policeman.” He aims at Kosit.
“Wait,” Da says. “I had the phone. I took it, and when you called, I answered it.”
“Sure.” Captain Teeth turns to Rafferty. “You ready to see your cop friend die?”
“It was me,” Da says in a strangled voice. “Someone called, and I said hello, and then they hung up.”
Captain Teeth stares at her for a moment. “How many times did you say hello?”
Da swallows. “Once.”